


I Have Only 'til the Night is Over

by Zoejoy24



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Drugged Sex, Embarrassment, Forced Orgasm, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape Aftermath, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22573774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24
Summary: “You’re lucky, Malcolm.  Some men like to hurt, to break.  I don’t.  I just want to enjoy myself.  I’m not cruel.”“No, just a murderer,” Malcolm spits out.Conway sighs.  “Dead boys can’t talk.  Would you believe it's easier to cover up a murder than a rape?  When you know what you’re doing, of course.”~~Or~~Malcolm trusts the wrong person, and nearly ends up as the next victim in the teams latest case.
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610707
Comments: 18
Kudos: 144
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	I Have Only 'til the Night is Over

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE read the tags! And if any one of those things make you uncomfortable, please don't read.  
> Creepy bad guy is creepy, and it doesn't go well for Malcolm. Its rated explicit for a reason. You are forewarned.
> 
> This was written as part of my Bad Things Happen Bingo for wonder-boy on Tumblr who requested "Rape/non-con with Gil and team arriving too late to stop it," and is (obviously) written to fill the the Rape/Non-Con square.
> 
> Lastly, lot's of thanks to my favorite Malcolm whumper who read this over for me and helped to make it better. You know who you are.

"Malcolm, I'm so glad you came. Please, come in." 

Malcolm Bright smiles pleasantly at his host, a man named Ian Conway, and steps gratefully out of the chill winter air into the stately old brownstone that Conway calls home.

“I appreciate the invitation. I haven’t had the chance to enjoy an evening of intelligent conversation since college,” Malcolm tells him as he looks around the entryway, noting the unique artwork and artifacts and subconsciously storing the details away. 

Conway notices and smiles indulgently. “Please feel free to ask any questions. It’s fascinating to see the way your mind works.”

Malcolm smiles and blushes--from embarrassment at being called out for his obvious assessment of the space,  _ and _ from the compliment.

“Fascinating isn’t the word most people use,” he admits ruefully, ducking his head.

“Well, most people don’t know what we do. Let’s have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

Malcolm nods, following Conway into the sitting room and sinking down onto an overstuffed couch.

The walls of the sitting room are lined with bookshelves holding impressive academic collections as well as an eclectic mix of artifacts and artwork matching those in the hall, and Malcolm suddenly feels as if he is back in college, sitting in a professor’s house with fellow students for an evening of drinking and discourse on the human mind. He’s looking forward to doing the same with Conway.

He’d met Ian Conway earlier in the week when the man had been brought in to assist with a case. The team had been assigned a high-profile case involving several young men who’d been drugged, sexually assaulted, then murdered. Details of the case had been leaked to the media, and shortly afterwards Conway had contacted the precinct, offering his help as a professor of psychology and criminology who had experience with similar cases. Malcolm had been more than willing to accept the help. Murder, he understood; rape, not as well, and two heads were better than one.

They’d hit it off well. Conway was intelligent and incredibly helpful. He offered opinions and advice from his own experience without stepping on Malcolm’s toes or making him feel inferior when he had gaps in his knowledge that Conway could fill. Everyone on the team was highly competent and intelligent, but Conway spoke Malcolm’s language in a way they never could, and Malcolm was thriving on the exchanges they’d had in the course of their investigation. Conway seemed to enjoy them as well, and had suggested that Malcolm visit that evening to discuss their common intellectual interests in a non-work setting.

It’s the closest thing to a normal evening out with a friend that Malcolm has had in some time, but he doesn’t mention that.

Conway returns with two glass tumblers filled with amber liquid and a matching decanter tucked into his elbow. He hands Malcolm a glass before settling into a seat across from him, swirling his drink contemplatively before taking a sip.

Malcolm follows suit, enjoying the burn as the alcohol slides down his throat and the rich aftertaste of the bourbon on his tongue. He tips his glass to Conway in appreciation, leaning back into his own seat. 

“You know Malcolm, when I first heard that the criminal profiler for the Major Crimes unit of the NYPD was a 31 year-old Ivy-Leaguer I was skeptical. But you’ve impressed me. Your grasp of the human mind is impressive, and not something that can be taught.”

Malcolm chuckles, dropping his eyes to his glass as he swirls his drink absently. “Well, I started my studies earlier than most,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Conway nods in understanding. “Yes, I suppose so. And I must admit, I am very curious about the personal aspect of your  _ education _ , if you’re willing to discuss it. I understand if you’d rather not.”

Malcolm sighs, considering. He understands the man’s curiosity. If the tables were turned, he’d be curious as well. He takes another sip of bourbon--more than a sip, really--and nods.

“Of course. I’m an open book. What would you like to know?” he asks, spreading his hands in invitation. 

Conway gives him a curious look, one that Malcolm can’t quite decipher, glancing at the glass in Malcolm’s hand, then back at his face with a smile. 

“I appreciate that, and please, feel free to stop me at any time.”

The questions are not unexpected, and Malcolm grows more comfortable as Conway’s personal questions lead into more theoretical discussions on the criminal mind. He loses track of time, finishes his drink and happily accepts when Conway offers him a second. He’s relaxed, happy, in his element. 

He doesn’t notice anything’s amiss until he’s several sips into the second glass of bourbon. He’s starting to slur his words, taking longer to formulate his responses and recall memories. At first he blames it on the alcohol mixed with his naturally lower inhibitions due to the relaxed atmosphere. It's not until his vision begins to blur at the edges and he nearly drops his glass that he realizes something is off. 

He looks down at his glass where it rests against his thigh, then back up at Conway, confusion giving way to realization when he sees the way the other man is watching him now, like a predator watching weakened prey.

“What..? What did you do?” he stammers. His head is heavy, tipping back against the couch and he struggles to lift it, to do  _ anything _ , but his whole body has grown so heavy he can barely even move his fingers.

Conway rises, stalks over and lifts the glass from Malcolm’s loose grip, setting it on the coffee table, and doesn’t answer.

“It… it was  _ you _ . You’re our suspect,” Malcolm gasps, a sudden spike of adrenaline flooding his system and he’s able to lift his head, to twist away from Conway and reach for his discarded suit jacket where his phone still sits in a pocket.

Conway  _ tsks _ , grabbing the jacket and tossing it away. Malcolm slumps back as a wave of dizziness washes over him and he’s forced to blink rapidly to clear spots from his eyes. 

Whatever Conway had laced his drink with was strong. Edrissa had never been able to identify exactly which drug (or drugs) had been used on their victims, but whatever they were, they were working.

There’s a growing terror building in his belly as he fights to stay conscious, forces his foggy mind to  _ think _ .

“You inserted yourself into the case. Had to keep an eye on things. Was anything you told us true?”

Conway hums noncommittally and sits next to him on the couch. He settles in sideways so he’s facing Malcolm and watches him with a focus that’s unnerving and sends a shiver through Malcolm’s body.

“It was easy to misdirect you. So smart, but so fucking stupid. Blinded by a few compliments and flattery,” Conway spits out, suddenly cruel in a way Malcolm would never have expected he was capable of. “I have to admit though Malcolm, I’ve enjoyed working with you. Watching you. You would have figured it out eventually. Soon, probably. That’s why I invited you here. I couldn’t let you dig any deeper. Well, that, and I wanted you.” He leans in, runs a finger over Malcolm’s cheek and Malcolm jerks back, but the movement is slow and muted and he barely manages to turn his head away.

“I’m surprised,” Conway continues, “everyone else was unconscious by now. I usually prefer things that way, it's simpler. But I think I can make an exception, for you. Still, how  _ are _ you still awake?” he asks, and Malcolm guesses its rhetorical but answers anyways.

“Benzos. They lessen the effectiveness of most date rape drugs. That’s what you’re using, right?” he guesses.

“Benzos, eh? I suppose that makes sense, tortured childhood and all. Just how damaged are you, Malcolm?” Conway muses. 

He shifts a knee up onto the couch and leans over Malcolm, starts to loosen his tie, and Malcolm curses the drug resistance he’s built up over the years and the fact that his brain refuses to just  _ let go _ . He’s trapped in his own body, unable to move or think clearly, but conscious enough to be aware of every look and touch, to realize exactly what’s about to happen as he sits there, helpless.

Conway pulls Malcolm’s tie free from around his neck and holds it loosely in one hand. He grabs Malcolm’s wrists, brings them together in front of him and wraps the tie around them, binding them together tightly. “Just in case,” he mutters as he pulls on the ends, securing the final knot. Malcolm glares at him, tries to pull away but barely manages more than a twitch of his hands.

Conway smiles indulgently down at Malcolm as if he’s a misbehaving child and pats his cheek. 

“You’re lucky, Malcolm. Some men like to hurt, to break. I don’t. I just want to enjoy myself. You may even enjoy it, too. I’m not cruel.”

“No, just a murderer,” Malcolm spits out.

Conway sighs, runs his fingers over the column of Malcolm’s throat, down to the first button on his collar and starts to undo it.

“Dead boys can’t talk. Would you believe it's easier to cover up a murder than a rape? When you know what you’re doing, of course.” He moves on to the second button, then the third.

“You can’t really believe you’ll get away with this, can you?” Malcolm asks incredulously. “Gil knows I came here tonight.”

Conway pauses at that, his fingers resting over Malcolm’s clavicle, thumb rubbing there absently. “Well, that does complicate things. But I’m sure he’ll be grateful for my help when they find your body tomorrow,” he says, returning his attention to Malcolm’s buttons, movements sure and deliberate. “I’ll be devastated of course, and I’m sure there will be some suspicion cast my way since I’ll have been the last to see you alive. But I’m not worried. Like I said, I know what I’m doing.”

He pulls Malcolm’s shirt free from his pants and undoes the remaining buttons. Malcolm’s bound hands hinder his access but he works around them, moving them as necessary, as if Malcolm’s just a doll to be positioned for his pleasure.  _ That’s exactly what you are to him _ , Malcolm’s brain supplies darkly.  _ A doll for him to use as he sees fit and dispose of when he breaks you. _

Conway brings his hands up and rests them on Malcolm’s throat, ever so gently. He presses on the underside of Malcolm’s chin with both thumbs to tilt his head up, then leans down and kisses him. Malcolm chokes, pressing his lips together firmly when Conway tries to slip his tongue in. Conway grunts in disapproval and wraps one hand around his jaw, squeezing painfully and forcing Malcolm to open his mouth. He kisses him again, sucks on his bottom lip before slipping his tongue inside Malcolm’s mouth. He rests his elbows on Malcolm’s chest and leans forward, brings his weight down on Malcolm’s chest and he gasps at the sudden pressure on his lungs, struggles to take a full breath. Conway moans against his lips and deepens the kiss, holds Malcolm in place as he plunders his mouth with his tongue.

The kiss seems to last forever and by the time Conway finally pulls back and sits up Malcolm is desperate for a breath of air. He inhales sharply, a broken sob escaping as he exhales. 

“Conway, stop. You don’t have to do this,” he pants, struggling to catch his breath, to stay calm.

Conway hums, the tips of his fingers gliding down over Malcolm’s neck, thumbs dipping into the hollow of his throat before his hands slide out over Malcolm’s shoulders, pushing his shirt open and out of the way, down off his shoulders till its bunched behind his back. He stops, hands on Malcolm’s biceps and just  _ looks _ , eyes traveling slowly up and down his bared chest and Malcolm can practically feel the weight of his gaze on his skin. He shudders, skin crawling.

“You’re a beautiful man, Malcolm. I could spend all night looking at you. But, since you felt the need to tell your dear Lieutenant where you would be tonight I’m afraid I don’t have that luxury.” Conway pauses, hums thoughtfully as he brings his hands to rest on Malcolm’s ribs. “But don’t worry, I’m still going to take my time with you.”

He runs his hands up Malcolm’s sides, over his chest and back down over his stomach, scrapes with his nails then switches to featherlight bushes of the tips of his fingers. Touches that under different circumstances would be tender and teasing, but now make Malcolm’s skin crawl. His breathing is ragged and broken, chest rising and falling erratically, stuttering when Conway’s fingers find the sensitive skin high on Malcolm’s ribs, low on his belly; when they skim over his nipples, returning again and again to pinch and flick. 

Conway leans over Malcolm once more, boxing him in, and fastens his lips over the skin at the base of Malcolm’s throat. He latches on with his teeth, worrying the skin and sucking, leaving his mark. He’s done it to every victim, in the same spot. Malcolm can feel tears forming in his eyes and he tries to shake his head to clear them, to get away, but can’t even manage that. 

He moves on, exploring Malcolm’s chest with his mouth, kissing and licking, suckling at his nipples, one after the other, blowing on the wet skin and making Malcolm gasp, overstimulated and shocked by the cold. 

“Please, please stop,” Malcolm mumbles and he feels the tears welling in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. He doesn’t know what else to do, doesn’t know what to say to reason with Conway, helpless in the face of the man’s attentions.

“You’re beautiful when you cry, Malcolm,” is Conway’s only response as cups Malcolm’s cheek and brushes the tears away with a thumb.

Conway rises then and starts to strip, beginning with his own shirt and tie, then toeing off his shoes and stepping out of his pants. Malcolm’s eyes widen, breath coming faster in short little gasps as panic starts to set in. This can’t be happening, not like this, can’t be real. How could Conway have fooled them all so well, fooled him so well?

Malcolm’s relieved to see that Conway leaves his briefs on, but he’s sure it's only a matter of time before those come off too. He can see the evidence of Conway’s pleasure, shudders as he watches the man rub himself and moan, unable to look away from the clear display.

Conway returns and begins to undo Malcolm’s belt, pops the button on his pants and pulls down the zipper. He wraps a hand around Malcolm’s bicep and pulls him over so he’s laying on his front across the couch, hands trapped beneath him, lower legs still dangling off the edge. 

“Shit, no, stop!” Malcolm cries out weakly, voice muffled as he falls forward into the cushions. 

Conway ignores him, removes his shoes and then his pants in quick jerks. Malcolm sobs into the couch as Conway runs his hands up the backs of his thighs, over his ass and hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers then pulls them down, too. 

Malcolm curses, panting in desperation and tries to struggle, wills his body to respond but it doesn't. Conway palms his hips and Malcolm cries out at the touch, eyes going wide.

"Conway, please--don't," he begs but it falls on deaf ears.

Conway slips his hands under Malcolm's shirt, runs his hands up to his shoulders than back down, gliding over his buttocks then  _ squeezing _ . 

"I have to say, Malcolm, you’ve got quite a  _ delightful _ body hidden under all those suits of yours," Conway says with a groan as he squeezes and rubs at Malcolm's ass.

Malcolm whimpers, tries to shake his head but nothing happens. Conway groans low in his throat behind him, and for all the time he took exploring Malcolm’s body before, he seems impatient now. It isn’t long before he’s sliding a finger between Malcolm’s cheeks, searching out the tight furl of muscle there. 

Malcolm squeezes his eyes shut, sobs out “no, please no,” over and over as tears fall freely down his cheeks and soak the fabric beneath him. He’s  _ afraid _ now, wishes he were unconscious like all the other victims had been, that he could just drift off and then  _ never wake up again _ . 

Conway pulls away for a brief moment and Malcolm tries to look back at him but can’t, can only wait in horrible anticipation for whatever is going to come next, for what he  _ knows _ is going to come next. Conway’s hands return, grabbing his ass and spreading him open as he slips a slicked-up finger inside him and Malcolm whimpers once more, begging quietly as Conway starts to work the digit in and out and even with the lubricant easing the way it burns. 

“You know Malcolm, you’ve given me some much needed motivation to...  _ improve _ my methods,” Conway muses. “I’m so enjoying your reactions. It may take some experimenting, but if I can recreate the right mix of drugs I can find a way to leave all of my boys immobile but awake just like you.  _ Mmm _ .” Conway trails off and slips a second finger in beside the first. 

“There won’t be any more victims,” Malcolm grits out. “My team--” he grunts in pain as Conway slips in a third finger far too soon and it  _ hurts _ , steals the breath from his lungs.

“Your team is nothing without you, Malcolm. Not when it comes to stopping someone like me.”

Malcolm groans in frustration and anger, ragged and broken. Conway is underestimating them, he knows it. They’re trying their hardest now, of course. But they are all fiercely loyal and won’t stop until they’ve caught his killer, once he’s dead.

“You’ll make a mistake… eventually,” Malcolm manages to say. “They’ll kill you.” It’s a threat, one he’ll never be able to make good on, but that he has no doubt his team will given the slightest chance. It’s all he has left. 

Conway ignores him, continues to work him open, grunting appreciatively in ways that Malcolm tries desperately to shut out. His fingers move in and out, twisting and scissoring inside him and Malcolm thinks maybe it's better that he can’t do anything but lay there, thinks that fighting would just make it worse, but he still tries. He can move his head, ever so slightly, and thinks he maybe twitches a finger. But that’s all. 

And then it doesn’t matter anymore, anyways.

Conway pulls his fingers free and Malcolm’s breath freezes in his chest because he knows what’s coming and he can’t do anything to stop it. He’s left waiting once more as Conway steps away to strip off his boxers and slick himself up. He returns all too soon, digs his fingers into Malcolm’s hips and positions him how he wants him. Malcolm can feel Conway nudging against his opening and his breathing turns to panicked gasps. Conway forces his way in, one long slow push that drives the breath from Malcolm’s lungs and coherent thought from his mind. For a blessed moment his mind is blank--he feels nothing,  _ hears _ nothing but a loud ringing as his mind begins to shut down and tune out everything around him.

Conway starts to move inside him, grunting and gasping above him and Malcolm snaps back to reality with a muffled scream. 

“Fu--ck, you’re tight boy,” Conway moans behind him. “Is this your first time? Pretty little thing like you, makes it hard to believe.” 

He’s been hanging on to Malcolm’s hips, holding him in place as he fucks him, but after a few moments he shifts, sliding one hand up Malcolm's back to where his neck and shoulder meet and grabbing him there. He leans forward, presses his hips into Malcolm’s till they’re pushed flat against the couch and Conway is stretched out above him, over him and in him. 

Malcolm shuts his eyes, tries to block everything out once more but it doesn’t work. With a growing dread he realizes his body is beginning to react. As the burning stretch in his ass starts to fade and the friction against his cock increases his body is pressed into the couch he starts to get hard. He can’t believe it--he doesn’t want this, wants nothing more than for it to end, but he can’t control it either. It's pure science, nothing more than the result of nerve endings being stimulated. He  _ knows _ this, but it doesn’t lessen the humiliation and shame he feels in that moment.

Conway is fucking into him with long, deep thrusts now, seems to be slowing down, and Malcolm prays for it to be over. Conway pulls his hips up once more and Malcolm cries out at the change in position as Conway brushes over his prostate. “Mmm, feel that boy? Do you like it? You’ve said you don’t want this but I think you do,” Conway gaps out. “God, you’re perfect. I’m  _ so _ close, Malcolm. Ungh, yes…  _ yes _ .” 

“You fucking bastard,” Malcolm manages to spit out, lips curled back in a snarl. He knows what Conway is trying to do, and he won’t let him. Even if he’s going to be dead soon, he won’t let this man break him.

Conway slips his hand from Malcolm’s shoulder up into his hair, twisting his fingers in the long strands and shoving his head down, forcing his face into the cushions of the couch and cutting off his air supply. He thrusts faster, hips stuttering, pace erratic till he’s gripping Malcolm’s hip hard, holding Malcolm tight against him as he comes with a shout before collapsing on top of him. Malcolm starts to panic because he still can’t breathe and he wonders if Conway is going to kill him now, suffocate him while he’s still buried inside him. Finally Conway releases his grip on Malcolm’s hair and pulls out, nudging Malcolm’s hip so that he topples onto his side.

Conway looks him over disdainfully, his earlier appreciation turned to disgust that only deepens as he catches sight of Malcolm’s half-hard cock. He pushes Malcolm onto his back and smiles cruelly.

“You  _ did _ enjoy it, didn’t you?” he crows, reaching out to grab Malcolm in a painfully tight grip.

“You know that’s not true,” Malcolm gasps out even as he starts to harden once more. “It's... basic biology.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Malcolm,” Conway murmurs, his voice sickly sweet as he continues to stroke him. “But we both know you have a dark side, one that thrives off of violence and pain, one that enjoys this.”

Malcolm clenches his jaw as Conway works to bring him off. He knows it's inevitable, like everything else this evening has been.

A sudden pounding at the front door cuts through the quiet of the house and Conway freezes.

“Police! Open this door Conway or we’ll break it down! We have a warrant!”

Malcolm recognizes Gil’s voice and a surge of hope rushes over him, followed immediately by a wave of shame and dread because if the team is here they’ll know what happened, know what Conway did to him, they’ll see him like  _ this _ .

Conway shoots to his feet and rushes over to a side cabinet, pulls open a drawer and yanks out a pistol. He hurries back to where Malcolm is laying and sits beside him, yanks him up so that Malcolm’s body is in front of his, shielding him. The front door bursts open with a loud crack and Conway tenses behind him, wraps one arm across Malcolm’s shoulders, holding him tight against his chest while pressing the gun to his temple. 

Gil is the first into the room but he freezes as soon as he catches sight of Malcolm and Conway. JT and Dani are right behind him and they fan out, one on either side, and all three have their guns drawn and pointed at Conway, and by extension, Malcolm.

He watches them, sees as each of them takes in the situation, as realization dawns and they snap their gazes back up to his face, to the gun pointed at his head and he doesn’t even care if Conway pulls the trigger, he just wants this to be over. 

“Let him go, right now, or I swear to God I will blow your brains out right here and now,” Gil says, his voice is low and though his words are measured and calm his body is radiating anger. 

Conway presses in with the pistol, pushes Malcolm’s head to the side just enough to get their attention. Malcolm closes his eyes, wincing. Conway isn't being gentle, and the gun barrel pressing into the sensitive skin above his temple hurts, and he’s afraid, and ashamed.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Conway says, settling down further into the couch, pulling Malcolm more fully in front of him. He brings his head in close too, his mouth next to Malcolm’s ear, and Malcolm shudders as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin there as he continues to speak. “Besides, I haven’t done anything.”

Gil scoffs at that and JT actually growls. Malcolm opens his eyes again and his eyes meet Gil’s. He can see the worry there, the unspoken ‘are you okay?’ as well as the pure fury that’s radiating off of him in nearly tangible waves. Malcolm doesn’t know what Gil sees in his eyes--he just feels empty--but after a moment Gil’s expression tightens, he grips his gun with both hands and shifts his weight into a firing stance.

“Don’t try me, Conway. I don’t even need a reason, and I won’t hesitate. Now let him go.”

“You sure you want to risk it? I’ve got quick reflexes, you can’t be sure I won’t blow his brains out the second I hear a shot. Now, why don’t we talk about this like civilized people?”

No one moves or lowers their weapons, but Gil relaxes his stance ever so slightly. “Fine, let’s talk.” he grits out. “Ian Conway, you’re under arrest for the rape and attempted murder of Malcolm Bright.”

Conway chuckles and shakes his head. “Rape? Murder? You seem to be mistaken, Lieutenant. Everything that happened here this evening was just a bit of fun, and there certainly wasn’t any attempted murder involved.”

Malcolm hisses in a breath at Conway’s words even as his cheeks flare with heat. He knows it's a lie, everyone knows it's a lie, but the implications and the compromising position Conway has him in make him flush with shame. 

“You can’t possibly think that we believe you!” Dani exclaims.

“Don’t you?” Conway asks, his voice low and breathy in Malcolm’s ear. “Shall I show them?”

Malcolm’s breath catches in his lungs and he shakes his head desperately. “No! Wait, shit. Gil, he’s right. It's fine, just… go. Please,  _ please _ no. Conway,  _ don’t, _ ” he pleads. He drops his voice, whispers, “I can get you out of this alive, just  _ please, _ don’t.”

None of them move, and Conway ignores his pleas as he has all night. He knows it's over,  _ has to know,  _ but he has Malcolm at his mercy, is holding the whole team hostage by extension now, and he can’t seem to resist the urge to exert that power while he still can. Conway lets go of Malcolm’s shoulder, runs his hand down over his chest and stomach and lower, wraps a hand around Malcolm’s cock once more. Malcolm had softened during the exchange, but it doesn’t take more than a few strokes for him to harden again. He shudders, twisting futilely in Conway’s grasp. “Jesus, Conway--stop. Ian,  _ please _ ...,” he pleads. 

“Conway, stop. Stop!” Gil yells at the same time while JT and Dani look on with matching looks of shock and horror.

“I told you he wanted it,” Conway crows, and he’s stroking faster now and Malcolm can feel the pressure building in his lower belly and there’s nothing he can do about it. A groan escapes his lips and he wants to  _ die _ , wishes Conway would just blow his brains out because he can’t even fathom going forward from this point.

It's a perfect storm--the drugs in his system and the alcohol combining to lower his inhibitions, the prolonged stress on his body and near constant stimulation all mixed together with a simple biological reaction. He shudders and comes into Conway’s hand with a sob, tears filling his eyes. 

Gil’s hand is shaking so badly he lowers his gun, his face twisted into a snarl of pure rage as he looks at Conway. “You sick fuck. Fucking bastard, I’m going to beat you to death with my own bare hands.”

Conway snorts. “No you won’t, Arroyo. You’re far too noble for that. Especially if I’m in cuffs.”

“You’re not going to last long enough to get into cuffs.”

“Oh I think I will. Detective Powell is going to come over here, and read me my rights, and arrest me. Once she does, I’ll give her my gun and let her cuff me and she’ll walk me out of here unscathed. Because if she doesn’t, if you lay so much as a finger on me, this case will never go to trial. Or, Malcolm here will end up with his brains blown out at about the same time as I do. So, what’ll it be?”

Gil doesn’t say anything, but he takes a step back and gives Dani a curt nod. She grits her teeth, clearly unhappy about the situation but does as Conway says. She keeps her gun raised, approaches slowly and very pointedly does not look at Malcolm except for one brief moment when she meets his eyes and gives him a small nod of support, an act of solidarity he can’t find it within himself to return and he glances away quickly. The sound of her voice seems muffled, he knows she’s speaking but can’t make out the words, he barely notices when Conway finally hands over his gun, when he releases his hold on Malcolm’s body and stands. As soon as Conway is gone Malcolm curls in on himself, grateful to find that his limbs are cooperating once more. 

In the end it's JT who ends up walking Conway out, and while he isn't gentle, he doesn't hurt him, either. Dani stays by his side, and she’s talking again. He doesn’t know how many times she says his name before it finally registers that she’s speaking to  _ him _ .

“Bright, hey, look at me, Bright!”

Somehow he manages to obey, to turn his gaze towards where she’s kneeling on the floor in front of him. She reaches up to cup his cheek but he flinches away from her, tries to bring a hand up to push her away only to realize they’re still bound. He whines low in his throat, pulling at the tie desperately, trying to get his hands loose.

“Hey, Bright, it's okay, relax. Let me help you,” Dani pleads, resting her hands gently on his until he settles down. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs dully, still unable to meet her eyes.

She picks at the knots, loosening them and unwinding the tie from around his wrists. A shadow falls over them and he looks up to see Gil standing next to him, offering his jacket to Malcolm so he can cover himself.

“Malcolm, thank god you’re alive. When we realized Conway was our guy and I remembered you were coming here tonight….” Gil trails off.

Malcolm yanks the jacket out of Gil’s hands, covering himself as he looks for his own pants. “I wish you’d let him kill me,” he mutters.

When he turns back to Gil and Dani they’re both staring at him with wide, concerned eyes and he realizes he’d spoken out loud. “Look, that’s not--I don’t mean--”

Gil holds up a hand. “We get it, kid,” he says softly, and the tender pity in his voice is almost too much for Malcolm to handle. He doesn’t want that to be the look they all give him from now on. 

“Look, there’s an ambulance on the way, let's just get you out of here, okay?” Gil suggests.

“No! No ambulance, I don’t need one. He didn’t hurt me.”

“Malcolm, you have to go to the hospital,” Gil replies softly.

“I know, I  _ know _ but I-- I just need a ride, and maybe some help out to the car. Not an ambulance, please.”

Gil and Dani exchange a look, and Gil nods. “Fine, no ambulance. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Thank you,” Malcolm whispers. “Could I have a moment, please?”

“Sure kid. Just, be careful, okay?”

Malcolm nods and watches as Gil and Dani leave the room. He can hear more voices outside, and he’s grateful that none of the unis or CSU techs have come in yet. He finds his clothes and dresses slowly, his coordination still a mess. He doesn’t bother with his tie, just buttons up his shirt and pulls on his pants and jacket. He nearly falls off the couch trying to put his shoes on but somehow manages it, and then he’s finally clothed, the events of the evening no longer on display for everyone to see.. He tries to stand, and he’s wobbly but stays upright until he takes his first step and staggers into the table.

Dani and Gil come rushing back in and Gil hurries to his side.

“You good, Bright?”

“The drugs are still wearing off, but I’m fine. I told you, he didn’t hurt me. I can give a full report at the hospital. I’d just, I’d like to go now.”

Gil nods in understanding, “Dani, can you handle things here?”

“Sure boss. I got it,” Dani answers. She rests a hand on Malcolm’s arm as Gil helps him outside. “You had us all worried, you know? Even JT. We’re all glad you’re alive, and we’re going to make sure this guy goes away for life, okay?”

Malcolm nods, and manages a tired but genuine smile. “Thank you, Dani. For everything.”

Gil keeps a steady hand on his arm as they walk out. Malcolm feels like he’s drunk, swaying and stumbling as he walks but Gil is there to support him, helps him hobble down the stairs, one at a time, and eases him into the passenger seat of his car.

They don’t say anything for several minutes, and it's Malcolm who finally breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry for what I said back there, Gil. I don’t mean it. Thank you for coming for me, for always coming for me when I need it. You have no idea what it means to me.”

Gil spares him a quick glance before turning back to the road. “I know, kid. It's okay to not be okay, I get it. And, I know that this mess isn’t over yet. You need to know I will always be here if you need me. So will Dani, and JT. They’ve got your back. What happened tonight isn’t going to change that.”

Malcolm nods and rests his head against the headrest.

Gil’s right, this isn’t over. There’s a rape kit and reports to give at the hospital, and more likely than not testimonies at hearings and trials. It's going to be a long time before he can put this behind him, before he can look any of them in the eye without wondering if they see him differently, now. But he’ll get through it and he knows they’ll have his back each step of the way.  
  



End file.
